


The One Hundred and First Pet

by lirin



Category: The Hundred and One Dalmatians - Dodie Smith
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:07:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25437400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lirin/pseuds/lirin
Summary: Mrs. Dearly keeps an eye out in the night in case any of the newly-returned Dalmatians need her help—but it's a cat who comes looking for her.
Relationships: Mrs Dearly & White Persian Cat
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12
Collections: Juletide 2020





	The One Hundred and First Pet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DesertVixen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertVixen/gifts).



Mrs. Dearly settled in to her hard-backed armchair and sighed, tired but happy. Things had finally calmed down—so much as anything could be calm when one's house had suddenly gone from containing only one Dalmatian (which was seventeen Dalmatians too few) to exactly one hundred Dalmatians (which Mrs. Dearly already felt was not a single Dalmatian too many—though she was still feeling just a _little_ overwhelmed). The puppies were bedded down all over the house, and the humans had agreed that it was best if they mostly stayed awake and kept an eye on them just in case they needed anything.

Mr. Dearly had carried one of the dining room chairs up to the master bedroom (the cozy armchair there having already been claimed by two puppies) and was watching over more than a dozen puppies that had curled up on the master bed. Nanny Cook was in the kitchen with Pongo and Missis and an assortment of puppies that Mrs. Dearly was almost sure included their own fifteen—though they had grown so much in the last few weeks that she scarcely recognized them. Nanny Butler was in the laundry with Perdita, who seemed so much happier to have puppies to take care of once again. She had latched on to several that had liver spots, the same as she; if it hadn't seemed too much of a coincidence, Mrs. Dearly might have wondered if the puppies were her own, for the Splendid Vet had remarked that they were around the right age. But then, in a time when two Dalmatians had apparently gone all the way to Suffolk and come back with ninety-seven more, who was she to assume anything was an impossibility?

As for Mrs. Dearly herself, she had taken the one chair in the living room that wasn't soft enough for a puppy to sleep on. The other three armchairs and the two sofas were all full of puppies: some near full-grown and claiming a chair all for themselves, others scarcely bigger than Pongo's and Missis's puppies and curling around each other in a heap. It was funny; all these dogs hadn't even been here for half a day yet, already Mrs. Dearly thought of them as her own, and felt terribly responsible for them all. The Splendid Vet had said none of them showed any signs of illness from what must have been a terribly arduous journey here from Suffolk; but still Mrs. Dearly felt that she ought to keep a close eye on everybody tonight, just in case one of them took a turn and needed something more than sleep and good food.

And so she sat quietly in her chair, and smiled as she sat, full of love for so many lovable Dalmatians. She had never expected this to be her life, back when it was just her and Missis and Nanny Cook living in a bachelor flat. But she rather thought that it was going to be a good life.

There was a clicking of claws from the passage. Mrs. Dearly sat up quickly, ready to help whichever of the puppies needed something.

But there were no spots on the animal that walked into the room. It was completely white—a pure white Persian Cat, in fact. Mrs. Dearly recognized her at once. "You're Cruella's cat, aren't you?" she said, holding out a hand in case the cat wanted to sniff it, and doing her best to look welcoming and nonaggressive. "Do you want more milk and sardines, like we gave you before? I'll get you some." She stood up and hurried down the passage and down the stairs to the kitchen.

The puppies were all fast asleep and so was Nanny Cook, but Missis and Pongo both stirred and looked up at Mrs. Dearly as she went to the icebox. She said nothing to them, feeling sure they were tired enough that they would fall right back asleep as soon as they had ascertained that it was just her and their puppies were in no danger. Poor things, to have been in so much danger for so long. But they were safe now.

"And poor you," Mrs. Dearly said, carrying the milk and sardines back up the stairs. The cat was waiting in the passage, and since that was one of the few places in the house where no puppies were sleeping, Mrs. Dearly supposed it was as good a place as any to feed her. She sat down cross-legged on the floor, and set the sardine tin and a saucer in front of her. She filled the saucer from the milk jug, and the cat immediately darted forward to lap at it. Mrs. Dearly was too tired to get up right away, so she sat there and watched the cat drink. "Cruella hasn't been feeding you very well, has she? Too much pepper, I suppose."

The cat purred, and move on to the sardines. Mrs. Dearly poured more milk into the saucer.

"When you visited us before, I was afraid that Cruella would have the law on us if we stole you. But now she's probably on the run from the law herself. So I see no reason why you can't live with us, if you want to. What's one more pet at this point, right?" She chuckled. "The Dearlys and their one hundred and one animals. Don't worry, we'd love you just as much as the first hundred. There's plenty of love here to go around."

The cat's initial hunger seemed slaked, and she began to lap at the milk again.

Mrs. Dearly reached out a hand and held it in front of the cat's head where the cat was sure to see her. When the cat made no move to pull away, Mrs. Dearly reached out further—still slowly, watching the cat for any sign of fear or discomfort—and scratched gently at the top of her head, between her ears. Her fur was velvety soft. "Do you like that?" she asked. "I'd guess Cruella never petted you once, and that husband of hers didn't seem the type to pet cats, either." With both hands, now, she held the cat's head in her hands and massaged her jaw with short finger-strokes. The cat rested her head on Mrs. Dearly's leg, abandoning the saucer of milk in favor of pushing her head against Mrs. Dearly's hands. "Yes, you do like that! Well, you should stay here; you'll get lots of petting, as much as we can spare the time from petting one hundred dogs. Though you are quite a bit softer than them, so I suspect you'll get more than your fair share."

The cat purred, soft and low.

"I'll take that as an acceptance of my terms," Mrs. Dearly said with a chuckle. "Lots of petting, and all the milk and sardines you can eat. I just hope you don't mind dogs."

The cat made a snorting sound. Mrs. Dearly wondered if that was her way of chuckling—of course she didn't understand a word Mrs. Dearly was saying, but perhaps she was able to tell that she was laughing? Mrs. Dearly supposed she ought to learn more about cats and how much of human emotions they could understand. The Splendid Vet had promised to pop round again tomorrow, so she could ask him. "And we'll have him look you over and make sure you're healthy," Mrs. Dearly said, moving her hands slowly back and down until they were stroking the long luxurious fur along the cat's back. "You look fine, but if there _is_ anything wrong, I'm sure you'd be just as happy as I would to catch it early."

The cat stretched, arching her back and extending her legs as far as they would go, but showed no desire to move away from Mrs. Dearly. If anything, the movement only propelled her more firmly into Mrs. Dearly's lap.

"Now I suppose we have to find somewhere for you to sleep that isn't already taken," Mrs. Dearly said. She pushed herself slowly to her feet, and realized she was very tired, after all. She walked back down the passage to the living room, and the cat followed her. "Now I realize my chair looks empty, but it's taken, too," she said—quietly, so as not to wake the puppies—but the cat was already jumping up onto the chair. "Silly cat," she said. "I need somewhere to sleep, too." As gently as she could, she wrapped her hands under the cat's belly and lifted her off of the chair and onto the floor.

She knew she ought to go find a blanket or something to put on the floor for the cat, but it was long past midnight and she was just so terribly tired. Mrs. Dearly sat down in the chair and closed her eyes. "Just for a moment," she told the cat. "Then I'll go get you something to sleep on."

The next thing she knew, the morning sun was streaming in the windows. The cat was curled up in her lap, which she supposed was fair enough since she'd turfed her out of her chosen spot without providing a replacement. What was slightly more surprising was that both of her hands were wrapped gently around the cat, one at the top of her head and the other on her back. She must have been petting her in her sleep.

Well, with one hundred and one pets in this house, petting them in one's sleep was bound to be the only way that there would be enough petting to go around. Mrs. Dearly petted the cat's head a few more times, then stood up as gently as she could, setting the cat down on the chair once she herself had vacated it. "You're going to like it here," she said, and surveyed the room, with its forty or so slowly-waking puppies. "You're all going to like it here. I promise."


End file.
